


The Two Times Merlin Didn't Tell Arthur How He Felt, and the One Time He Didn't Need To

by EmrysProngs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmrysProngs/pseuds/EmrysProngs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If there's one thing, I must do, despite my greatest fears, I'm gonna say to you how I've felt all of these years. Next Year, next year, next year...I gonna tell you, how I feel.” -Next Year, Baby by Jamie Cullum</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two Times Merlin Didn't Tell Arthur How He Felt, and the One Time He Didn't Need To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> This was written for the Merthur Party Secret Santa hosted on Tumblr. This is dedicated and for my flawless prince, Orchis. Merry Christmas, sire!
> 
> The prompt she gave me was: "Something with/based on the song 'Next Year, Baby' by Jamie Cullum"
> 
> I adore you and Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy your fic.

_“If there's one thing, I must do, despite my greatest fears, I'm gonna say to you how I've felt all of these years. Next Year, next year, next year...I gonna tell you, how I feel.”_

Merlin had always loved Arthur.

It crossed his mind a lot, actually, now that he really thought about it - which in of itself was confusing because how often did one sit and think about how often they sat and thought about something. He tried to pinpoint the definitive moment when the candle flickered on and he knew. And no matter how often he let himself think about it, he could never figure it out. He always loved Arthur.

Deciding all that was the easy part.

Now, the complicated bit, letting Arthur know.

 

1.

Merlin really hated hunting trips. He hated the mud. He hated the cold. And he hated the smell of an animal’s blood after Arthur shot it. And he really hated the way Arthur looked so temptingly at him from across the fire.

They had been out all day and what do they have to show for it? A rather poor excuse for a hare. Grumpy and tired, Merlin stared at their catch accusingly. “My, aren’t you impressive.” He called to Arthur over his shoulder. “My lord, I don’t know how we’re going to carry this grand catch back to Camelot.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin huffed indignantly and moved to sit beside the king. Arthur was struggling to light the fire, rubbing two sticks together so fiercely they snapped. He growled and threw the bits into the air and folded his arms. Merlin sighed, “Let me try.” He picked up two sticks and went through the motions of rubbing them over one another. He stared at the mock fire pit and with a few words whispered under his breath...seconds later, he grinned as it lit.

“I obviously created the embers you needed to do that.”  
“Of course, Arthur.”

The warlock turned his gaze from the lapping flames to look at Arthur. The right side of his face was illuminated in an orange glow, making his blue eyes turn coppery. His palm twitched with the desire to touch that cheek, to cup his chin. He gripped at the bark of the log he was sitting on.

“....Arthur?”  
“Yes, Merlin?”  
He paused, studied that face for another moment and forced out a cocky grin.  
“We’re going to need more kindling for the fire.”  
“So go get it, Merlin.”  
“Prat.”

 

2.

Another day another tournament.

Merlin fastened Arthur's armour over his shoulder, taking the unnecessary time to touch the small of his back, _"I'm fixing your chainmail, Arthur."_   He licked his bottom lip and stepped back, aching to let his hands explore that body more. "There, all done." He turned to pick Arthur's sword from the table and unsheathed it. Arthur was staring forelornly out of his window, one hand resting on the framing. Merlin approached his side slowly, flashing a smirk to cover any other emotions that might slip through. "You aren't nervous, are you?"  
" 'course not."  
"So why the long face?"  
"Your insolence has finally gotten to me."  
"I'm surprised you lasted this long."  
"Me too."

Merlin shuffled his feet awkwardly on the ground. "Arthur, you can tell me, yeah?" He swallowed thickly. He really could never tell with Arthur. On some days, the king trusted Merlin with everything he had. Cracking his chest open to reveal everything. Other days, Arthur introverts himself and likes to treat Merlin like a spoiled sack of potatoes.

Arthur turned around and shrugged, trying to preserve some semblance of being nonchalant. Merlin knew better, he knew Arthur was just hiding behind false vibrato. "Not that it's any of your concern, but it's my first tournament since loosing my father." Without thinking, Merlin moved to Arthur's side and placed a hand on his arm. Arthur stiffened and looked down at the offending limb, like struck by lightening Merlin removed his hand. "He'd be proud of you, you know."

"I don't know about that."  
"You're a great king, Arthur. You must know that. Sure, you're a stubborn, pompous, dollop-head--"  
"Get to the point, Merlin."  
"But, people believe in you, Arthur. They trust you. And they know you'd give your life for them without a second thought. And they'd give their's for you."  
After a pause Arthur looked up. "Thank you, Merlin."  
"Anytime."

 

3.  
It started like it always did. With an angry sorcerer and a vendetta. Things got tricky after the magic ban was lifted. Not only did this give warlocks like Merlin and the Druids freedom to be themselves, but it gave evil magic folk the freedom to be, well, evil.

This time the sorcerer was just being difficult. True, attacks on the crown king of Camelot have dwindled in frequency, but with the more sparse attacks came more complicated ones. This sorcerer would pull childish pranks on the kingdom. Little things like setting the horses loose or jinxing the knight’s armor to melt when it came in contact with human skin. It all seemed rather frivolous at first, with little need for concern.

The pranks increased in intensity every day.

Soon crops were catching fire every day at noon. The kingdom’s water supply became mud. Merlin insisted looking deeper into the matter, but Arthur insisted it was just a young sorcerer playing with his new-found freedom. “Honestly, Merlin, do you really think I can’t tell a threat from a prank?” Merlin rolled his eyes, too easy.

So, like countless times before, Merlin began to work behind Your Royal Prince of Obliviousness's back. It had been two weeks since the first attack when three things happened. One, Merlin was covered in paper cuts from days of hiding in the library - no, he still doesn’t know how he got a paper cut on his nose, stop asking. Two, the sorcerer’s name was Borin and, like Merlin predicted, simple “pranks” were his warning sign. Three, Borin was said to have perished in one of Uther’s hunts.

With these three things figured out, Merlin set out to first bandage his hands and second figure out how a man can return from the dead. Along the way he’d probably have to do a few chores and he wouldn’t be adverse to having a meal or two.

After more paper cuts and unsuccessful attempts at tricking the information out of Gaius, Merlin wished he could say he unlocked the secrets of the old religion, but all he learned was that Borin was a sneaky bastard. He snuck out every night, magic pulsing through him like oxygen after a long run. It prickled against his fingertips and buzzed through his veins, he felt the heat of it, felt the chill. It was comforting to know he had that one constant. He had something that breathed within him that was always there, always unchanging.

On his nightly escapades he would chase the wizard before any mischief could be cast, but on this particular night, Borin wasn’t pranking about the outer villages...he wasn’t planting traps in the castle. He was waiting.

“Tired of my chase, Emrys?” Merlin paused. Ah, of course, this wasn’t about taking down Arthur at all. It was about his grand destiny. It was about _Emrys_. Merlin lifted his hand, the words poised on his tongue and ready for use. But Borin clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Don’t be so rash. Aren’t you at all curious of my motives? Now, come on Emrys, gift me with a few moments of your time.”

“I don’t have to give you anything.”

“I always heard you were a merciful man, Emrys. Grant me the same mercy.”

“Go on.” Borin smiled.

As it turns out, to save Arthur and Camelot, Merlin would have to sacrifice himself. Nothing new there. Restore the balance of killing an immortal man, blah, blah, blah. Borin had given him a choice, join him and rule, or kill them both. He made the decision before Borin could blink.

* * *

What was one supposed to think about before dying? Regrets, loved ones, goodbyes... What did Merlin think about before dying? _“Does this get me out of cleaning under Arthur’s bed?” (_ And sausage, but that’s another story for another day.) The way he saw it, it probably should, after all Merlin was about to walk to his death _for_ the royal prat.

Then again, it would serve as a better excuse if Arthur _knew_ Merlin was planning on dying for him. Then again, again, if Arthur knew he wouldn’t let Merlin go and we just couldn’t have that, could we?

As an unspoken protest, Merlin laid himself atop Arthur’s bed, claiming that if he didn’t get up then there would be no way for him to clean under it. This served as an excellent battle strategy on his part, that is until Arthur returned to his chambers with a loud and unnecessary, “ _Mer_ lin! Please tell me you’ve finish---What _are_ you doing?”  
“Relaxing, sire, you should try it sometime. Might help get rid of those wrinkles.”  
Prodding at his face, before realizing he was taking Merlin’s offered insult-bait, Arthur grinned and marched over to the sprawled form of his manservant. “Yes, well, tending to a manservant with your remarkable incompetence level tends to add premature age to one’s face.” And with that, Arthur promptly lifted and dropped Merlin onto the floor. “There we are.”

The retort was on the tip of this tongue, it would be so easy. _“You’re welcome for saving your royal arse again, my lord. Now let me use your pillows.”_ He raised his head from it’s position on the floor and....bit his tongue. “Right. On it,” He grumbled out instead.

Not even ten minutes later and Merlin had his front half submerged under the bed and was complaining loudly about the whole ordeal. Arthur was only partially paying attention to that, tossing out periodic, “don’t be such a girl, Merlin” and “a little bit of dust won’t kill you. Or, knowing your scrawny frame, it might.” His main priority of the moment was eying Merlin’s bum as it waggled and stuck out from under the bed.

“Arthur that’s disgusting, this lamb has to be at least two weeks old.” Came out from under the wooden framing, followed quickly by an, “Arthur it has fuzz. How does lamb even get fuzz?” Arthur simply grunted and moved to stand behind the object of his desire. With one swift movement, his hand came down to grasp the buttocks. Arthur was rewarded with a yelp and a loud thump. Merlin came out rubbing at his head. “Ar-arthur?”

He’s not sure what happened after that, but Merlin’s pretty sure it involved some abusing of the Prince’s title, more arse grabbing, and some finally unsuppressed lust. The warlock was now back where he started, on Arthur’s bed, holding onto the man’s much broader shoulders like his life depended on it. Arthur was rubbing agonizingly slow circles on Merlin’s cock-head with his thumb, intentionally stringing out the movement to make Merlin shudder and beg. He was panting, wanting more just as much as the brunette beneath him did, but also wanting this to last for as long as possible - fearful this would be the only time Arthur could be with Merlin like this, intimate.

Merlin screwed his eyes shut and arched his crotch up, grinding into Arthur’s palm. “Arthur, _please._ ” He said, surprised by the harshness of his voice. Arthur responded with a hushing of his lips before wrapping his hand around Merlin’s length. He rubbed slowly at first before increasing his pace and bucking his hips in time with each pulse upwards. But Arthur needed this too, needed release. Grabbing the candle off his bedside table, he tilted it until drops of the melted wax landed on Merlin’s opening. He rubbed it over the entrance and tested with two fingers, sliding them in and out. Satisfied, he slowly let himself slip into Merlin, never seizing his stroking as he did so. Merlin tensed at first and Arthur stopped for fear of hurting the smaller man, but with a nod of encouragement from the warlock, he continued his pace.

Merlin’s hands traveled from Arthur’s shoulders to dig into his sides, his thumb circling the prince’s navel. He soon lost himself in a haze of pleasure as he climaxed, shuddering and bucking until he fell limp. The sound of Merlin moaning in pleasure and the sensation of him releasing sent Arthur off and soon both men were tangled in each other’s limbs, staring into each other’s eyes.

It was in that moment that Merlin remembered what he had to do.

He fumbled out of the bed, ignored Arthur’s protests and questions, and began to dress himself. “I’m sorry.” Tears welled in his eyes but refused to fall. They blurred his vision and made getting clothed a clumsy mess of reds and blues. When he turned back to Arthur any resolve he had meticulously created fell. The tears poured freely now and he crawled back beside Arthur, who’s hitched breathing contradicted his stony expression. “Arthur, I-I’m so sorry..” Arthur held up a hand - effectively silencing Merlin - and looked him dead in the eye, his gaze tender, his jaw tight. He nodded slowly, understandingly. He kissed Merlin’s temple.

“I love you, too, Merlin.”

And with that Merlin ran from the room to face fate.

So what did Merlin think about as he greeted death? He thought about requited love. And he thought about Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> (I plan on adding on other incident before the final one. Since this is for a Secret Santa, I was given a deadline. I want my prince to receive her fic before Christmas so I'm posting what I have as of now. More will be added later. Orchis, you're absolutely wonderful. Merry Christmas!)


End file.
